


The Wrong Side of the River

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Joanlock - Freeform, Soul mates as much as I'm not fond of the term I think maybe here it defines the relationship, mention of drug use, post concussion syndrome, soul searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 01:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: Sherlock walks away and comes to a decision.The story is a bit angsty, perhaps even  a bit melodramatic, but resolves itself. Written for myself on tumblr but it got long so I am putting it here for now.





	The Wrong Side of the River

The East River, taking on the inky hues of the oncoming night, lapped at his feet. Sherlock stared across the water towards Brooklyn. He was on the wrong side of the river with only a vague recollection of how he'd gotten there. Departing the brownstone shortly after sunrise this morning, he had turned off his phone and with no predetermined destination, followed the wind. Head bent and hands in pocket, his body had walked while he attempted to sort through the jumbled remnants of his brain. 

He picked his way back up the stony embankment and sat on a the edge of the dirt path. With a resigned sigh, Sherlock undid the top button of his shirt. The decision was made. He would not be returning home. He was no longer Sherlock Holmes. The damage to his brain was such he felt he no longer deserved the name. He'd travel north, maybe Canada or Norway. Somewhere cold where he could hide from himself. This change in him, this devolving of his intellect and memory, was an embarrassment at best, a soul crushing buffeting at others. Strangely though, the PCS left him with no desire to use, to seek oblivion in the drug ... he fought for every bit of self control he could manage to get hold of ... at least for now, his sobriety was the least of his concerns. 

A galaxy of lights blinked and twinkled into existence on the far side of the river and his thoughts turned towards his true north, his Watson. The thought of leaving her brought an overwhelming ache to his being, and panic welled within him. How could he leave her again... Sherlock shut his eyes and steadied himself with deep breaths and attempts at rational thought. Watson would understand. She'd no doubt be relieved by his leaving. She was doing her job and his and nursing him to boot. No one should be asked to do such things ... not for him certainly. He could not disappear without some sort of explanation; she would come after him.... but in facing her he feared his resolve would fade... crumble ...

"Ready to come home?"

He jumped. The voice came from over his shoulder and was quickly followed by its owner who sat down beside him. 

"I didn't hear you come up..." A halfcocked smile was tossed in her direction in hopes of hiding his embarrassment and the miserable state he was in. 

She knew him too well for it to work. "Are you okay?"

"Depends. Are you real?"

Joan looked more concerned than amused. "Yes. Very real, and very worried."

He broke away from her gaze. "How did you find me? I never spotted you tailing me."

"I was trained by the best." She bumped his shoulder with hers. "I didn't actually follow you. When I couldn't get a hold of you, I asked for help from some of the Irregulars, from Everyone. ..." Joan adjusted her coat. "I may need to find a Mulan costume in the near future," she mumbled. 

Sherlock snorted a laugh in spite of himself.

"I wouldn't be so quick to laugh, there's a small dragon costume in your future as well. ... some of those guys seem to have a real Disney fixation ... as well as a racist streak."

Quiet fell between them and the darkness deepened. 

"I've decided to go away... spare us both the agony...." He waited for her response, not daring to look at her. 

"No." The word was said firmly, with no trace of emotion. 

"Watson, it will be best for both of us. I'm not thinking of using if that's what you're worried about. I just am no longer capable of ...."

"No." The word was repeated in exactly the same tone. "I am your friend and I love you and you are not thinking properly at the moment so I will do the thinking for you. You are not leaving. You are going to continue under your doctor's care until you are better..."

"You shouldn't have to put my care before yourself. I am no longer ..."

"No." She moved so that her face was directly before his. "I will put you under guardianship if I have to. You are not leaving."

"Watson, I can't stand this. I hate the slipperiness of it all, of not being in control, of embarrassing myself and you ..." He stared into her eyes. "How can you not hate me? I hate this ..."

"I love you Sherlock. We will get through this together." Her voice stayed calm and rational.

"At least with heroin, it was my decision... you know ... I had some control, illusionary though it might have been ... this, this...comes and goes at its pleasure leaving me a simpleton from one moment to the next." He was gesticulating, becoming more agitated.

Joan took hold of his hand. "It will get better. And we will see this through ..."

"This isn't your problem ... you shouldn't...." tears were beginning to slip. As hard as he tried to control them, he couldn't control his emotions or any thing else in his life at the moment. 

She placed a hand on his cheek. "I go where you go, remember? Because I want to, because I love you, because you are my ...." her voice cracked and she sought to gain control before continuing. "... because you are my dearest, dearest friend and I can't imagine any life without you beside me." She wiped a defiant tear. "Do you understand? I'm not letting go of you."

He nodded unable to fight any longer. His head lowered to her shoulder and her arms held him close to her as she murmured words of comfort. The sounds of an ambulance racing up the street behind them jarred them apart. 

"Come on. Let's get you home." She stood and offered him her hand. They walked down the path under the dark canopy of trees towards the stone steps. In the darkest shadow, before they stepped out into the fluorescent lights of the city, he stopped her and placed his arms gently around her. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear. "I have no words to explain how deeply your every word, touch, gesture flows within me and restores me. You bring me back to me when I no longer recognize myself ..."

He kissed the top of her head, her forehead, and let his lips caress her cheek as he spoke the words, "I ... I love you." 

She clung to him with all her strength until she felt a shiver run through him and pulled away. "You need food and a good fire." Joan fussed with his jacket and then buttoned the top button of his shirt. "There." She patted down his lapels. "I will expect breakfast in bed tomorrow." She teased. 

He found her hand and laced his fingers through hers. "With or without a costume?" He retorted. 

They walked out into the lights of the River Promenade and pointed themselves home.


End file.
